Fancy That
by Tenshi-Chan
Summary: John gets more than he bargained for when he agreed to accompany Sherlock to the annual Holmes charity fancy dress gala, and Lestrade & co. get the shock of a lifetime.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: I do not own any of these characters, but I do own the situation they are currently in. It was going to be a one-shot, but I wanted to have something up for Christmas, so I opted to post what I had. It's good as it is, but I will add to it for New Year's. This is my first attempt at a Sherlock fic, so I hope it passes inspection. **Many thanks to Keara, my all-time favorite writer and best friend, for her help in making this better than it would have been without her help.** Merry Christmas to all of my past, present and future readers! Reviews are wanted and welcome.

* * *

**Fancy That**

_A Sherlock Fic_

By Tenshi-Chan

* * *

John grimaced as he looked at the costume he'd been given for the fancy dress party that Sherlock had invited him to. He had, initially, wondered why his flatmate was going. Sherlock had quickly informed him that it was his mother's annual Christmas charity event, and he hadn't wished to upset her by refusing the invitation. He closed the box and stalked out to the main room and glared at his flatmate. "I don't care if it's for a good cause, Sherlock, I am not wearing that ridiculous outfit," he proclaimed.

Sherlock glanced up from his current experiment and blinked at him. "Oh. Well if you feel that way about it, we could trade." He motioned to a similar box that had been carelessly tossed onto the sofa.

John walked over and opened the box. "Ah." He closed the box again and looked over at Sherlock, who was watching him with a bland expression. "Ah. Right, then. I'll just go get dressed in my costume. You can keep this one."

Sherlock nodded and went back to what he was doing. "Better dress quickly. Mycroft and that assistant of his will be here soon."

"Mycroft is going?" John was amazed that Sherlock would even consider going to the same party as his older brother, much less one where he'd be dressed in something he wouldn't ordinarily be caught dead in.

Sherlock sighed in what could only be exhasperation. "Of course. It is Mummy's party, after all. It would be bad form to throw it and not invite her first born. I already told you that it's the only reason I'm going. Ordinarily, you know I wouldn't willing go within 10 meters of him."

John nodded. As always, Sherlock's answer made sense.

* * *

Lestrade sighed as he entered Sherlock's residence, followed by Anderson and Donovan. He hated not being answered by the man, so he did the only thing he could think of and staged a drug bust. "All right ... Oh! Sorry."

A woman with long dark hair glanced over at him from where she was sitting on the sofa. She was slender and obviously very flexible since her leg was straight up against her chest as she straightened the seam on her fishnet stockings. Without speaking a word, she gracefully lowered her leg and stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress as she slipped her feet into a pair of spiked heels. The dress was slinky with slits almost to her waist and made of shimmering black material. A red leather bustier was laced up the front to push together her pert breasts. Around her neck was what looked like an intricate weaving of black chains and blood red rubies hanging from a delicate lace choker. Once she was done straightening herself, she picked up a cell phone and started texting. An amazing feat considering that her black nails with blood red tips were rather long.

"Freak's no where to be seen. Oh ... hello there." Anderson leered at the woman, who responded by rolling her eyes and walking over to the door and turning to face the group. She looked rather disinterested in the goings-on. Donovan scowled at Anderson then went about looking for drugs in an unnecessarily vicious way.

"What's going on in here? Oh! Uhm ... hello, Lestrade." John Watson entered and promptly turned an unflattering shade of red. He was wearing black leather pants with a black mesh shirt, under which a pair of nipple rings with a connecting chain could be seen. He nervously crossed his arms over his chest, looking away from the gathered police. He appeared to be taller due to the steel-toed platform shoes he was wearing, and he was fiddling with a studded leather collar with the fingers of one hand.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow at the man. "I didn't know you were into that sort of thing." He looked the doctor up and down again, appraisingly

John flushed a little deeper before clearing his throat. "Uhm ... did you need something? Sherlock and I are leaving in a bit with Mycroft and his assistant, so we won't be available for the rest of the night." He blinked when he looked over at the woman, whom Lestrade reasoned was Mycroft's assistant since he'd never actually met the woman who changed names frequently. At the last conversation he'd had with Sherlock regarding the woman, he'd gotten the name Isabelle for her. "You look good."

Anderson smirked as he removed his gloves and sidled closer to the woman. "Hey, if you're free after whatever you're doing with the Doctor and his pet freak, give me a ring." From the way the woman stiffened, Lestrade had to wonder where Anderson's hands had wandered.

Before Lestrade could reprimand the man, Mycroft Holmes entered with the air of a man who could make everyone in the room disappear with no questions asked, and he probably could. He was dressed as a Victorian gentleman. Right behind him was a woman dressed as a French maid, who was busily texting away on her cellphone. How she walked without bumping into anyone or anything was a mystery. "Ah! Sherlock! I got your text and came straight-away." He tutted. "You smudged your make up."

Everyone, except for John Watson, froze and gaped at the woman that Anderson had just felt up. Lestrade opened and closed his mouth several times before he was able to speak. "SHERLOCK!"

The woman scoffed and opened her mouth. "Really, Lestrade, and you call yourself a Detective Inspector? I wonder how you solve any cases at all with such limited deductive abilities." Sherlock craned his neck to look over his shoulder at his own back and sighed. "I don't suppose I could bring up charges against Anderson for harassment, could I?" He turned slightly, enough to show off a stark white handprint left behind by the powder on the inside of Anderson's gloves.

Anderson turned pale, then a bit green. "Oh my God!"

John was snickering where he was standing. Sally Donovan turned from pale white to flaming red in a matter of seconds before storming out of the flat, and Mycroft's assistant approached Sherlock with a lint brush of some sort. She wordlessly started dusting the obvious handprint off of Sherlock's backside.

Sherlock tutted at Anderson, though he was smiling wryly. "Poor Anderson. Struck out three times tonight, didn't we?" He held up a finger. "Your wife is out of town again, as she usually spends the holiday with her family which cannot stand you, so you stay home." He held up another finger. "You were just hitting on a woman who turned up to be a man in drag ... your observation skills really leave much to be desired." He held up a third finger. "And your usual partner for when your wife is out of town just left due to you hitting on me."

Mycroft's assistant pulled a small case out of her carry-all and motioned for Sherlock to bend down a little. When he did, she opened the case and lifted the tray inside to reveal a rather clever multi-level make-up kit. "Pucker." When he did, she applied more of the deep red lipstick, as well as sharpening the lip edges with a matching pencil. She pulled out a piece of paper. "Blot."

Lestrade was distracted from what Sherlock was doing by a few things. Anderson running out of the apartment as if chased by demons, and Mycroft Holmes approaching him.

"Inspector, I do hope you realize that my brother is not on the police payroll, and is therefore should not be subjected to this humiliation just because you wish to pull him onto a crime scene. It is quite understandable that you pull this sort of stunt when he chooses not to tell you something regarding one of the little cases he is currently on, but he already informed me that he is not on a case at this point in time." He straightened his tie and the cuffs of his shirt before speaking. "Now since that unpleasantness is out of the way, I will take this time to inform you that you have been invited to this year's gala. You will find your invitation at your residence, and I took the liberty of choosing fitting costumes for yourself and your charming wife." When Lestrade cast a wary glance at Sherlock, Mycroft smirked a little. "A small prank on my part, nothing more. I must say that I'm impressed at how well Dr. Watson is taking it."

Lestrade looked over to where John was resolutely fixing the collar around his neck and subjecting himself to having a leash attached to it by a smugly grinning Sherlock. He didn't want to think about why Sherlock was smiling like that. Then he turned to Mycroft, realizing only now what had been said to him. "Why am I invited?"

Mycroft's eyes softened and his voice lowered to a mere whisper. "For your role in getting my younger brother away from drugs, my family and I are eternally in your debt. It worries me to think where he would be now had you not been in the right place at the right time." The statement hung in the air.

Lestrade nodded and motioned for everyone to clear out before heading for the door.

Sherlock's voice stopped him. "I'll want to hear more about this case in the morning, Lestrade." He gave the Inspector a fleeting smile. "It will keep me from getting bored over Christmas week."

John snorted from where Mycroft's assistant was currently putting eyeliner on him, apparantly finished with her work on Sherlock. "You'll be done with it in about two hours and you know it." He blinked when his hands were taken. "What are you doing?"

With a small flourish, Mycroft's assistant pulled out a bottle of black nail polish and quickly applied it. Once she was done, John did that move that Lestrade had seen his wife do when dealing with wet nail polish and spread his fingers while shaking his hands in an obvious effort to make the color dry faster.

Lestrade shook his head and left the flat. He seriously did not want to think about why John was dressed in what could only be the costume of a submissive partner in a BDSM pairing with Sherlock as his female dominant.

Mycroft's voice reached him as he was exiting the flat. "The car will arrive for you in one hour. I suggest you hurry. You don't want to miss out on all the fun."

* * *

To be continued ...


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: I do not own any of these characters, nor do I own the song, but I do own the situation the guys are currently in. It was going to be a one-shot, but I wanted to have something up for Christmas, so I opted to post what I had. It's good as it is, but I will add to it soon. This is my first attempt at a Sherlock fic, so I hope it passes inspection. **Many thanks to Keara, my all-time favorite writer and best friend, for her help in making this better than it would have been without her help. Many more thanks for her suggesting to use the song "Chemistry" by Velvet as the song John and Sherlock Dance to.** Happy New Years to all of my past, present and future readers! Reviews are wanted and welcome.

* * *

**Fancy That**

_A Sherlock Fic_

By Tenshi-Chan

* * *

The music was somewhat lively ... which was a surprise to John. He had expected maybe a small orchestra to be playing some classical music by the great composers. Instead, pop music from England and other countries filled the impressively decorated dance hall. If he hadn't been so self-conscious, he might have decided to mingle rather than stand off to the side of the dance floor. That, and the fact that Sherlock seemed to be holding onto his leash for dear life.

Speaking of which, John glanced over at his flatmate. To the casual on-looker, Sherlock probably looked very bored. John knew Sherlock a little better, and he could see the slight tensing of his jaw. As if aware of John's scrutiny, Sherlock looked over.

John swallowed, and nearly cursed when he said the first thing he could think of. "You know, you really do look quite attractive in that outfit."

Sherlock blinked at him before turning to face the main room. "You'll forgive me for not being flattered. It's completely demeaning and these shoes are quite uncomfortable as well as impractical. Why do women wear them?"

John glanced down and shrugged. "Maybe they think the shoes make their legs look longer." He smiled as Sherlock's mother approached. He hadn't had a chance to meet the woman, yet. She had been greeting other guests when they had entered. Sherlock had assured him that she'd be around to speak to them soon enough.

The tall and slender woman had dark, slightly curly hair that danced about her shoulderblades. It was obvious where Sherlock got his coloring and build. She smiled at them and embraced Sherlock warmly, though he had to bend a little in order to return the embrace. "Oh, my dear. I'm so glad you came."

Sherlock seemed to relax slightly. "I would never refuse you anything, Mummy." He smiled as she kissed his cheek. "This is my friend, John Watson."

Unlike the time he'd been introduced as a friend to Sherlock's old classmate, John smiled and held out his hand. "Delightful to meet you, Mrs. Holmes."

The embrace he received was highly unexpected. "Please ... call me Emily. Anyone who can see Sherlock for who he truly is deserves no less." Her eyes were moist as she smiled. "Mycroft directed me to your blog, and I make sure to keep up with it." She chuckled. "I've been trying to teach him about the solar system since he was five."

Sherlock sighed. "_Mummy_." If it had been anyone else, John would have sworn the word came out like a whine.

Emily waved a hand at Sherlock. "I'm only teasing you. It's nice that you've finally made a friend. Too many people take you at face value. Now ... let me look at you." She pursed her lips as she looked her youngest from head to toe and back. "I really need to have a word with Mycroft. Blue would have been much better than red. It would have brought out your eyes"

John blinked when Sherlock spluttered.

Emily shook her head. "Don't fuss. You know I hold this event every year, and every year you put off getting a costume until the very last second and then you just stop somewhere and pay someone for whatever uniform they're wearing." She sniffed and turned to John. "Last year, he paid one of the staff. I think he served three trays of drinks before the guests realized who he was. I had to promise everyone I knew that he wouldn't do that this year before they would agree to attend." She turned her attention back to Sherlock. "I really should go speak with my other guests. Sherlock, why not have a dance with John? If you let him lead, no one will be the wiser."

Mycroft made an appearance. "If he doesn't dance with John, perhaps I shall." He smiled briefly and kissed his mother on the cheek. "I hadn't thought of blue ... perhaps next year." With that, he reached a hand out for John.

Sherlock's response was to tug John's leash a little as he headed for the dance floor. "John, we're dancing. I'm leading."

John resisted the tug and glared at Sherlock. "You know ... it would be nice if you actually asked."

Sherlock turned to look at him. Again, John could see what many people would miss ... the touch of hurt in his eyes. "Do you ... **_want_** ... to dance with Mycroft?"

John rolled his eyes. "No, but you shouldn't assume that I want to dance at all."

His tall friend seemed to think a moment before tilting his head. "Do you want to dance?"

John looked over to see that Mycroft and Emily Holmes had walked away to speak about something, then turned back to Sherlock. Damn if he didn't look good dressed up like that. "Actually ... yes."

Sherlock nodded and walked out with John not too far behind ... mostly because of the blasted leash.

When the song started playing, John swore under his breath. "Perhaps we should wait for the next song?"

Sherlock tilted his head. "Why should we? One song is as good as the next."

John shrugged. The music was a bit more fast paced than he was used to, and he still wasn't sure about Sherlock leading. "I didn't know you could dance."

Sherlock spun him on the dance floor with an expertise that the professionals would envy. "There's much you don't know about me."

John, for all his inexperience, found himself enjoying dancing with his normally serious and, as far as other people were concerned, unemotional flatmate. They got caught up in the music and the movement and John's world became a blur of twists and spins. Before he realised it, John was nearly hovering horizontally over the floor, only Sherlock's arms holding him up. The bastard had dipped him. As he gazed up at Sherlock, their eyes locked and the last chorus filtered through the fog that had settled over John's brain.

_I feel the chemistry_  
_Between you and me_  
_There's electricity_  
_When you're touching me_  
_I feel the chemistry,_  
_Pulled by your gravity_  
_I want you touching me_  
_I feel you touching me ..._

When Sherlock straightened them, John swallowed and cleared his throat. "You ... ah ... have good balance to be able to do that in those heels."

Sherlock seemed to be considering John a moment before speaking himself, his low voice almost husky with some un-named emotion. "It's your lead."

John had only ever dated girls in his lifetime, but a sudden urge overcame him. Before he was aware of his actions, he had grabbed his own leash and used it to tug Sherlock close. He acted quickly to keep himself from thinking twice, and he reached up to pull Sherlock into a deep kiss.

* * *

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: I do not own any of these characters, but I do own the situation they are currently in. This is my first attempt at a Sherlock fic, so I hope it passes inspection. **Many thanks to Keara, my all-time favorite writer and best friend, for her help in making this better than it would have been without her help.**

* * *

**Fancy That**

_A Sherlock Fic_

By Tenshi-Chan

* * *

John felt self conscious when he pulled back from the kiss he'd given Sherlock on sheer impulse. It hadn't been unpleasant, but John had never kissed another man before. That, alone, made things awkward. When Sherlock brought his fingers up to touch his lips, John felt a bit embarrassed. "You act like you've never been kissed."

Sherlock blinked and seemed to come back to himself. "I haven't."

John cursed under his breath. "The dance floor is not a good place to talk about things. Come on." He walked towards the many small tables set up and chose one set a bit apart from the others and as close to the door he could get in case Sherlock wanted to run. Once they sat down, John regarded his friend. "What do you mean you've never been kissed? Someone with your brain?"

Sherlock shrugged a little. "I think it was my brain that was the problem." He looked away from John and idly picked at the tablecloth in a way that would seem nervous in anyone else.

"What?"

Sherlock shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other and smoothing out the wrinkles in his skirt. "I never had friends, John. What makes you think I ever had anything else?"

John scowled. "They were damn fools, then."

Sherlock was silent for a moment, but the look on his face told John that his brilliant mind was working at a million kilometers a minute. "WERE you coming on to me in Angelo's during that Pink case?" The way he said the word 'pink' spoke of great distaste.

John leaned forward and placed his chin on his hand, his elbow on the table. "At the time I was just making conversation, actually. Not that I'm adverse to that sort of thing." He gestured towards the dance floor. "Obviously"

Sherlock frowned. "And Sarah?"

John groaned and fell forward until his head rested on the table. In all the upheaval of the past few minutes, he had actually completely forgotten about Sarah. They hadn't gone much futher than a few kisses and some cuddling, but she was a good woman. "I am the worst sort of arse imaginable."

Sherlock's voice was pensive. "I suppose you could say we were standing under a stray bit of mistletoe ... or something along those ..."

John cut him off. "No, I can't." He looked up and fought the urge to wipe the little frown line from between Sherlock's eyebrows. "And I wouldn't want to. I probably would have broken things off with her sooner or later, anyway."

Sherlock was silent a moment. "Because of me?"

John hated the mix of uncertainty and slight guilt in Sherlock's voice, so he reached over and placed a hand on his flat mate's shoulder. "Yes ... because of you, and I don't mean that as a bad thing." He smiled a little at Sherlock. "Meeting you was just what I needed when I needed it. If not for you, I might be in some slum living on the streets and still using that bloody cane to walk with. I'd be bored out of my mind and probably on the verge of joining my sister in alcoholism, if I hadn't already been driven to shoot myself with my gun."

John never thought that Sherlock had been capable of going even paler than his normal fair skin tone. The man looked positively ill at the mental image. "Thank goodness for Mike calling out to you during lunch that day, then."

They looked up as Mycroft approached. He wasn't smiling, but he still somehow looked extraordinarily pleased with himself. "That was a sheer delight to watch." He chuckled when Sherlock glared over at him. Whether for interrupting their conversation, or for the fact that he had chosen their attire, John wasn't sure.

Sherlock sighed and tugged on the skirt. "Is there any particular reason why you chose this for me?"

Mycroft's lip twitched on one side. "I didn't think it would bother you. It didn't when we were young."

John frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Don't you dare."

Mycroft simply smirked and handed John a photograph that he seemed to produce out of thin air of a child with curly dark hair.

John blinked at the photo and looked at Mycroft. "Is this ... Sherlock?" When Mycroft nodded, John cleared his throat in order to cover the building snigger as he studied the picture of Sherlock wearing a frilly tutu. "Is this why you don't like pink?"

Sherlock scowled and gave John a dark look. "Shut up."

John coughed and squinted at the picture. "W-What is that you're holding?" He looked over at Sherlock when his flatmate grumbled something. "I'm sorry ... what was that?"

There was a sigh before Sherlock answered. "A scepter. It's a scepter."

Mycroft smiled smugly. "I believe you referred to it as a 'Magic Wishing Wand' at the time."

John was failing at trying to contain his amusement, and the odd chuckle escaped him as he studied the wand carefully. It was covered with silver glitter and had a star at the end with pink ribbons streaming out from it. He cleared his throat and attempted a calm tone. "Well, it perfectly matches your tiara." He snorted, then coughed to try to cover his laughter. It was true. In the picture, a little silver tiara was perched on little Sherlock's head. It was kept there by being tied on with more of the pink ribbons.

Mycroft actually chuckled as Sherlock squirmed. "He was so proud when he showed his ensemble off to Mummy. He worked all day on it."

John could no longer contain himself "You MADE it yourself?" He burst out laughing and fell out of his chair onto the floor, not even bothered by the tension on his leash. "Oh, dear LORD! That is priceless."

Sherlock's response was to cross his arms and pout like a spoiled child, causing the leash to jerk a little.

John got himself under control and returned to his chair. "Oh." He reached over and patted Sherlock's knee. "Oh, don't be that way. If it makes you feel any better, I was a dancing flower in a school play once."

Sherlock looked up at John a little, his pout fading and his eyebrows shot up in curiosity. "Is there a video?"

John sobered up immediately. Already, he could see something of what his friend was thinking. "Sherlock, if you ever go looking for so much as a picture of me in that outfit, I will never kiss you again."

Sherlock perked up like a child that had been told he could have another cookie. "Does that mean you were intending to do it again?"

John thought about it a moment. It had just popped out of his mouth, but he found himself nodding. "Yeah, as a matter of fact. It was spur of the moment, and I'd never kissed another man before, but it was rather nice."

Mycroft held his hand out and John handed him the picture. "Would you punch me if I told you I knew this was going to happen eventually?"

John gave Mycroft a steady look. "Don't make wedding plans for us yet, Mycroft. So far, all we've agreed is that there's a mutual attraction and that I'm not adverse to kissing Sherlock again." He thought a moment, enjoying the dumbstruck look on Sherlock's face. Still acting on the spur of the moment, he winked saucily at Sherlock ... who blinked in apparent shock before a slight color that had nothing to do with make up touched his cheeks.

Mycroft smirked. He looked on the verge of saying something. However, he was never given the chance to utter a sound as Sherlock decided that this was a good time to get up. He tugged lightly on the leash, urging John to get up. John glared up at him, but stood and followed him when he walked away, not saying so much as a goodbye to his brother. John cast a look back at the man and shrugged. Mycroft merely smirked and turned to speak with a dumb-founded Lestrade.

They left the ballroom. John quickly became lost as Sherlock hastily walked through the halls, making several turns down seemingly random corridors, entering doors, going down a flight of stairs and going through even more maze-like hallways.

"Where exactly are we going?" John asked, trying to keep up with the other man's longer fast-paced strides. How he could walk in those heels, John didn't know, but he was impressed.

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks. He spun, facing a set of double doors. "Somewhere more private," he responded dryly. Grasping the door handles, he shoved them open and led John inside.

It was, if John was honest with himself, the largest game room he had ever seen. He could see there was table tennis, two billiard tables and dart boards. There was a beautiful and undoubtedly expensive chess set and what appeared to be arcade games lining one wall. John couldn't tell for certain as they were covered by heavy cloths, but they had the basic shape of arcade games. A bar took up the length of the far wall, though it was empty and the seats on the barstools somewhat dusty from disuse. John gathered it had been a while since anyone had entered this room.

"Mycroft used to bring associates here during the summer holidays," Sherlock murmured.

"You mean friends?"

"No. He didn't have friends. He had pawns and minions." He grinned and turned to face John fully. "You can kiss me now."

John blinked, a bit taken aback. He quickly regrouped his thoughts. Who was he to refuse such an offer? Though inexperienced, Sherlock was one hell of a kisser. Still, there was something off. "Hold on. One thing first."

Sherlock looked confused. John relished the expression for a moment. He didn't see it often. Then, stretching up, annoyed that the heels left Sherlock even taller than normal, he tugged the wig off of the detective's head and ruffled his hands through the thick curly hair beneath it. A grin quickly spread across Sherlock's face, amusement in his pale eyes. John would have preferred to do something about the make-up as well, but he didn't have anything on hand.

Sherlock's hands tentatively touched his elbows. His eyes flickered down to John's lips. Feeling a bit wicked, John purposely licked his lips. He could see the other man's pupils enlarging, the black leaving only a sliver of color behind. Emboldened by the physical proof that Sherlock was aroused by him, he leaned up and captured Sherlock's bottom lip between his teeth.

The detective gasped, lips and teeth parting with the rush of air. John took full advantage of the opportunity. He grabbed the sides of Sherlock's head and launched a full assault on his mouth, tongue invading and conquering the dark recesses. In comparison, Sherlock was almost timid. John was again floored by the fact that Sherlock had never been kissed by anyone else. He had entertained the notion that the Consulting Detective had made that up. By the trembling he could feel in the fingers flexing against his ribs, he doubted it.

Sherlock groaned into his mouth. His tongue chased after John's, his clever mind quickly learning and copying the actions he found pleasing.

John scratched his nails across Sherlock's scalp, eliciting another moan. He slid his hands along the other man's throat, along his collarbone and down across his corseted chest, wishing the fabric were thin enough to flick across his nipples. Sherlock was practically quivering against him, he had to wonder how sensitive the man's body was, what his reaction would be to such a simple method of stimulation. He'd come back to that later. For now, he settled his hands at Sherlock's slim hips, gently but firmly pushing him as he took a careful step closer.

Utterly lost in the moment, Sherlock obeyed the silent command and shuffled backward until his legs collided with the edge of the pool table. He staggered at the sudden stop, and John used the momentum to get him to sit. It took little effort to wedge himself between Sherlock's knees, pulling roughly at the other man's hips as he pressed himself fully against him.

Sherlock broke the kiss with a startled gasp. The hard line of Sherlock's arousal dug against him and he bit his lip against a moan of his own. Panting, he looked up into glimmering eyes, unable to see anything but endless pools of black. Sherlock's features were flushed with desire. He was sure he was in a similar state.

No words were spoken. Nothing needed to be said. Sherlock wrapped his long fingers around the back of John's neck, fingers dancing through the hairs at the nape, and urged him forward again. The kiss was fervent and neither could keep their hands to themselves. Arching against each other, practically devouring each other.

John ran his hands down from Sherlock's hips, stroking his way down to his knees, then back up again. He paused at the muscled thighs, digging his fingers in there, the fishnet stockings tearing under his harsh grip. Sherlock spread himself wider in response, his own hands ghosting down until they abruptly came up under John's mesh shirt to caress a flaming pathway upward. Those talented fingers came to his nipples and paused, then curled around the fake piercings dangling from them. John could practically feel the smirk against his lips as Sherlock tugged the jewelry free. John jolted forward at the electric shock that leapt from his nipples and straight to his erection and briefly considered thanking Mycroft for his costume choice.

As Sherlock attacked his neck, John's head spun. Had anyone told him, not ten hours ago, that he'd be making out with the self-proclaimed sociopath, he probably would have laughed in their faces. Now, however, here he was. He was in the Holmes Estate practically having sex on a pool table.

That thought froze John in his tracks. Sex. If Sherlock had never even been kissed, there's no way he'd ever done anything else with someone. It took some effort, but he managed to push Sherlock away a bit.

The taller man actually whimpered at the loss of contact, and gave John a confused look. "Not good?"

John rested their heads together. "Too good, actually. If we don't stop now, neither of us will be in any state to go back to the party."

Sherlock scoffed, but there was a touch of hurt in his face. "No one there would miss me. None of Mummy's associates ever cared much for me. They whisper about me when they think I'm out of earshot." He leaned forward and managed to steal a kiss before continuing. "They think she should just wash her hands of me as a lost cause. They have done even since before my issue with drugs."

John was flabbergasted. "Why does she still associate with them, then?" From what he'd seen, Sherlock's mother would have been furious at how people were talking about her son.

Sherlock sighed and flushed a little. "They were only words, John. They're good for Mummy's business and I didn't see the point of troubling Mummy with such trivial matters." He tried to pull John closer. "Can we talk a little less, please? Talking is boring, and you can be doing much more interesting things with your mouth."

John managed to speak again after a few seconds of being kissed deeply. "Mmph! Sherlock ... if we don't stop this now, I don't think I'll be able to stop myself from doing more."

Sherlock actually smirked, the bastard. "So don't stop." Sherlock's slender fingers started working on the fastening of John's leather pants.

The matter of whether to stop or continue was taken out of his hands when the door opened and Mycroft entered while talking to someone.

"And here we have the recreation room." There was a click and light flooded the area.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

**After Notes**: I really must thank Keara, again. She's the best friend I've ever had and an excellent writer. She came up with the "Pretty Pretty Princess" (as I refer to it) costume that little Sherlock was wearing, as well as the lines they were speaking when discussing the photo of Sherlock wearing that costume. Then she wrote the vast majority of that yummy scene with John and Sherlock in the rec room (seriously, I only wrote maybe 5 sentences). If you enjoyed those bits, you'll want to take a look at her fics. She's listed under my favorite authors.


	4. Chapter 4

**Fancy That**

_A Sherlock Fic_

By Tenshi-Chan

* * *

"And here we have the recreation room." There was a click and light flooded the area.

John felt his blood go cold and any previous arousal died at the heavy silence that followed the light being turned on.

Sherlock, damn him, sounded as cool as a cucumber. "Giving Lestrade a tour, Mycroft?"

Mycroft tutted softly. "Close your legs, Sherlock, and stop acting like some common tart." The elder Holmes brother sighed. "You have your own room. Why come here?"

"You used to bring people in here all the time." Still, Sherlock moved with a fluid grace as he removed his hands from their place on John's pants and slid so both of his legs were resting against John's right thigh. It was yet another show of how flexible Sherlock was since he had to lift his leg almost upright to keep from kicking John in the head. As he brought his leg down, he crossed his legs at the knee and turned slightly, showing off the tears John's fingers had made in the stockings.

John felt utterly humiliated as he hid his face against Sherlock's shoulder. Any respect the Detective Inspector had for him had probably flown out the door at seeing him in this position. He fumbled with his trousers, trying to fasten them. Sherlock's show of flexibility had done nothing to ease his current state. Somehow he managed by thinking of Anderson with nothing but a bathing suit on. He shuddered again at the mental image.

Mycroft snorted. "For a civilized game of chess and maybe some brandy. However, I did not molest my associates. You never showed any interest in the room even though Mummy brought in some of the most popular arcade games."

Sherlock scoffed. "Waste of time and money. Besides ... having no one to best is boring. Of course, you would never know that. No one ever beat you in anything. No one ever dared." His fingers idly stroked along John's hip, thumb dipping beneath the waistband of his trousers. To his horror, John felt his body stirring again at the feel of those devilish fingers. He blinked up at Sherlock, ready to tell him off, but the words died on his lips. There was no indication that Sherlock even knew what he was doing. It was an unconsious gesture on his part.

John sighed before summoning up the courage to turn to face Mycroft and Lestrade. The DI had his eyes closed and he was pinching the bridge of his nose ... the perfect picture of a man who had seen something he had never expected to see, and hoped would never see again. Mycroft looked like a cat that had gotten into a cage full of canaries before being treated to a tuna dinner.

John cleared his throat, drawing together all of his bravery. "Sod off, Mycroft. Can't you see we're busy?"

The smirk fell away from Mycroft's face. John turned away, his fingers scrabbling to hold on to the edge of the pool table. All traces of bravery had fled him. What sort of a moron yelled at a man who could literally make his vanish from existence? John Watson did, that's the sort of moron. He let his head fall against Sherlock, and he screwed his eyes shut, wishing he could slip between the cracks of this very expensive tiled floor. How did he get himself into messes like this?

Sherlock was shaking a few seconds before his soft chuckling was audible. "Oh, John, how very like you." He slid off of the billiard table and pressed his lips firmly against John's a second before speaking again. "I'm sure you'll excuse us, gentlemen. As John said ... we're busy." That said, he kissed John again.

John stepped back automatically as Sherlock took a step forward. He had to reach up and hold Sherlock's shoulders as the taller man slowly led him from the room. John's head started to spin as the kisses slowly grew in intensity. He knew he was being moved, but he didn't pay any attention to where until the backs of his legs hit something and he fell backwards onto a soft surface. He gasped as Sherlock's hands were at his pants again. "Where ...?"

"My room. Let's continue from where we were so rudely interrupted in the recreation room."

John wondered at how talented those slender fingers were as his body responded to unpracticed caresses. He grabbed Sherlock's shoulders in hopes of stopping the other man, and forced Sherlock to meet his gaze. "Wait."

Sherlock's pale eyes were dark with an untapped desire. "Why?"

John forced himself to sit up, much to his body's disappointment. "I am not one to just hop in the sack with someone as a casual fling." He tried to ignore the fact that his pants were undone again and tried to get his body under control. Not even picturing Anderson helped matters any. He tugged Sherlock to sit next to him.

Sherlock scoffed. "Considering how long we've known each other, John, I highly doubt that this counts as you just 'hopping in the sack' with me."

John chuckled and shrugged. "Good point, but we've never really looked at a possibility of more than a working partnership before tonight. At least I haven't ... not to my knowledge."

Sherlock was silent and his eyes were narrowed. A sure sign that he was putting a puzzle together. John remained silent as Sherock's expression cleared to one of complete understanding. "It would seem, then, that this has been building up for some time. You're quite correct in your conclusion that neither of us has ever seen fit to pursue any sort of romantic relationship with each other. You because you saw yourself as purely heterosexual and myself because I simply was never interested before in anyone male or female." He kicked his shoes off and rubbed idly at the bottom of one foot. "Always before, I needed a puzzle to solve ... I needed something that made me think to entice me into pursuing it." He quirked a quick smile, so quick that almost anyone else would have missed it, at John. "Perhaps that was what draws me to you. You, John Watson, are a puzzle in and of yourself. You look to be so uncomplicated on the surface, and yet you always find ways of surprising me."

John blinked in amazement. "Me? I surprise you? I can't see how. I'm just me."

Sherlock snorted. "Of course you don't see it. In that first cab ride together, I was expecting to hear you tell me to piss off and call me a freak like everyone else has. Instead, you said I was brilliant and that my deductions were amazing. Rather than take Mycroft up on his offer to spy on me for money, you turned it down even though the extra income would have been useful." His eyes became haunted. "At the pool ... you were willing to die to give me a chance to escape ..." He shook his head, obviously wanting to delete that mental image. "No one has ever been willing to so anything remotely like that for me before." He snorted. "And no one has ever called me an idiot or made me laugh like you do." He tilted his head. "Actually ... I think it was you calling me an idiot that started it for me. Well that, and the fact that you had shot that cabbie to keep me from taking that pill."

John let out one laugh. "I knew you were going to take the damn thing." He pursed his lips. "Know something? I think it was Angelo that started it for me ... that bloody candle and the thumbs up he gave me." He chuckled at the memory, pleased that Sherlock joined in.

Sherlock considered John a moment. "What about Sarah?"

The mention of his girlfriend's name was like a quick, cold shower. He thought of his relationship with her. He was fond of her, but there was no true spark there. He doubted that there was one for her, either. That realization made him sigh. "She's a very lovely woman and, let's face facts, I'm a man who hasn't had a decent shag since before going to Afghanistan. I was hitting on Anthea or Isabelle or whatever the hell her bloody name is." He smiled ruefully. "Given the opportunity, I might have hit on Donovan. I think I almost did before she called you a freak."

Sherlock seemed to digest this new information. "So you mean to say if I hadn't told you I considered myself married to my work ..."

John shook his head. "I don't do subtle, Sherlock. We would have still been just friends and colleagues unless you had started trying for a relationship."

Sherlock ducked his head, frowning in apparent though. He was staring at nothing in particular, but his body language was portraying a nervousness John had never before seen in the brilliant detective.

Lifting a hand, he traced his fingers up along Sherlock's shoulder to his neck. He grimaced briefly at the choker around his neck and quickly got rid of the obstacle, then continued delicately drawing a line up along that slender, pale neck. He followed his fingertips with his eyes, watching as they paused at the bobbing adams apple. He felt his own breath quicken and it was all he could do to resist the urge to kiss the pale column of flesh, to suck on it until he left his mark upon this beautiful man.

"John?" the voice was deep, husky and barely more than a breath. John shivered at the caress of warm air against his cheek. When had he moved so close? He couldn't remember.

He licked his lips, tempted by the lipstick smeared mouth before him. It took him a moment to realize that Sherlock had spoken. "Hm?" he asked, his heart thrumming in his ears. Was it getting hotter in here? He could almost taste him in the air between them.

Sherlock moved closer, his nose brushing against John's in what could almost be considered a nuzzle. His lips, only a fraction from John's, parted, his hot breath ghosting out and sending tingles along John's spine.

"I want to kiss you again," Sherlock said softly. "May I?"

John was beyond coherent thought. His body answered for him. He closed the distance between them with a groan, eagerly accepting Sherlock's tongue as it snaked into his mouth. Sherlock proved an adept student, showing off all he had learned from their all too brief experience with each other.

Hands scrabbled over each other, tugging and pulling at clothes that were horribly in the way. Before John knew it, he was naked on Sherlock's bed. By the feel of the hot skin beneath his hands, Sherlock was in a similar state. Bare knees knocked against his thighs, the detective straddling him but making no further contact with the lower half of his body. His hands were everywhere though and yet never touchng where John was just about ready to beg to be touched.

Abruptly, Sherlock pulled back and sat on John's knees. He was breathing raggedly, chest rising and falling. There was such a look of confusion on his face.

John propped himself up with his elbows. "Sherlock?" he asked, worried. Had they gone too far? He shouldn't have pushed him.

A faint blush came to the other man's cheeks. He looked down at himself, frowning. "What do I do now?" His hands hovered uncertainly over his own erection, shaking. "I've ... This is ..."

John's eyes widened a fraction as comprehension dawned on him. He swallowed, thinking maybe he had misunderstood. "You mean you've never?" He waved a hand wildly and blushed as Sherlock turned bewildered eyes toward him. "Dear Lord, you haven't have you? You mean to say that, even as a teenager, you've never had a wank?"

Sherlock scowled and sat back further, distancing himself. "Is this another thing that everyone should know like the Earth going around the sun? I know the theoretical mechanics of it, but I have no practical knowledge. I've certainly never engaged in voyuerism to gain insight." He made a disgusted face. "Male and female sexual organs are made to fit together, I know that. Add friction and there is series of muscular contractions and the expelling of semen. I gather it's roughly the same principal with two males, only without the presence of a vagina. However I am baffled by the thought of two females." He was quiet for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it. "I'm unsure of how to start. Is there something specific I'm supposed to do?"

John could only blink. How could a man get to Sherlock's age and not know anything useful about sex?

Sherlock stuck out his bottom lip. Clearly, he was getting frustrated by his own ignorance. "I want to please you."

John gulped, touched by the sentiment. He shifted his weight to one side and held up a hand to Sherlock, beckoning him closer. The taller man immediately complied, settling above John, their chests pressed together. Sherlock hissed out a breath as another part of his body came into contact with John's. They kissed again, slowly this time, and John was the one to pull away, brushing his fingers along one pale cheek.

"We can't do this," he said softly, regretfully.

"But I want to!" Sherlock argued. "Just tell me what to do!"

John wrapped his hand around Sherlock's neck, letting his fingers play with the dark hair at the nape. He pressed their foreheads together and breathed deeply. "You are not ready for this, Sherlock," John said. "I don't want you walking into this blindly."

Sherlock huffed out an annoyed breath and wriggled against John. He grimaced and shivered. "But I'm...uncomfortable," he whispered, as if ashamed to admit it. "How do I make it go away?"

"A shower sometimes helps."

Closing his eyes, Sherlock nuzzled his face into John's neck. "Please, John? Just...anything. Please?"

John swallowed thickly. He didn't want to take advantage of his friend. This had to be handled delicately. "I don't want to hurt you."

Sherlock pulled back, his eyes fairly glittering in the dim lighting. "I trust you."

All thought fled John's mind at those three simple words. He nodded mutely and reached out, touching him in a way he'd never expected to touch any man before.

* * *

_To Be Continued ..._

_

* * *

_**Author's Notes:** A Gazillion thanks to Keara who practically wrote this part. I was seriously stuck and she helped me out. Also thanks to all of you reading this and complimenting it. I promise to try a part in Sherlock's POV. It's gonna be tought, though, since his mind works in a way differently than mine does._  
_


	5. Chapter 5

**Fancy That**

_A Sherlock fic_

By: Tenshi-Chan

* * *

**Part 5**

**

* * *

**

At the first touch of John's hand, Sherlock's brain short-circuited. All coherent thought fled his mind and he was reduced to a writhing, panting mass of need. He was lost with that single caress. It was mildly disconcerting that his genius could so easily be interrupted. And yet, he didn't want it to stop, didn't want John to stop. He wanted more. He wanted it all. And he wanted it now.

With a groan and a bone-deep shudder, he leaned further against John's solid body, hips jerking against the teasing fingers. He buried his face in John's neck, having no sense of mind to do anything more than breathe against the tantalizing expanse of skin just under his lips. Still, he felt John shiver against him, his hand tightening a fraction around Sherlock.

Sherlock gasped, hips jerking. He gave into temptation and licked the faintly sweaty skin of John's neck and was pleased at the resulting moan it produced.

"John. John. John," he whispered breathlessly, not sure what he was asking for, if he was asking for anything.

There was a curious and unfamiliar pressure coiling low in his belly. It ached, but not in a painful way. It made him want ... he didn't know what. Was this supposed to be happening? He rocked against John, fingers clutching at John's ribs and releasing, again and again. His heart was pounding, not only out of lust, but also for fear. Fear of these unknown sensations. He couldn't control himself.

He came with a sharp jolt, his entire body quaking and all capability for breathing ceasing. The world around him froze, and all he could do was feel the ebb and flow of the cascading euphoria. Even when he'd indulged in drugs, he'd never felt anything to compare with this. He fell boneless against the bed, mostly on top of John, and decided that John was far more addictive than anything he could ever inject into his veins. He already wanted more, more of John.

Sherlock hummed, nuzzling lightly against John. His body was still tingling, faint muscular spasms of his pelvic muscles. His head was feeling unusually fuzzy.

Sudden comprehension struck him and he abruptly sat up and away from John. John looked up at him, wide-eyed, a touch of confusion and perhaps hurt lingering in his expression.

"I'm sorry!" Sherlock announced, eyes swiftly roving over the other man. He had completely neglected John's needs. Surely, one wasn't supposed to be so greedy. Sherlock didn't know. He'd never had to know. No one had ever wanted him before. But he hadn't even attempted to give John any pleasure, only taking. John would be mad at him for that. It wasn't good. It couldn't be good.

He had to make up for his negligence. Contemplating, he wrapped his arms around himself and unknowingly began to rock back and forth, his mind whirring through scenarios. Nothing seemed adequate. And his knowledge was far too limited. He knew offhand that a mouth could be stimulating, but he didn't know how. The only thing he had to go on, was John's recent actions and how they'd felt to him. Could he copy those movements? What if John preferred something different? What if he didn't hold him right or if his fingers were clumsy with his insecurity? How would he know? Would John tell him? Of course he would. John wouldn't keep silent about something like that.

He didn't realize that he was still sitting there, quiet and rocking, until John's hand came up to cup his cheek. "Sherlock?" he asked, cautiously. "Did I hurt you?"

Sherlock spluttered in disbelief. How could John think that? "No! Not at all. I just ..." He sighed in frustration and ran a hand through his hair. The long nails on his fingers snagged and he briefly wondered how he was going to get rid of the blasted things.

"Calm down, take a breath, and tell me what you want to say."

John was being his usual patient self and Sherlock appreciated it. "I just wish I could do the same for you, but I haven't the foggiest notion as to how to go about it." He took another breath and tilted his head. "Of course it's a matter of the right amount of pressure combined with a specific cadance, but I'm sure there are things you'd find pleasurable which differ from things I find pleasurable. For instance ..."

John, to his slight annoyance, simply laughed in that light-hearted way of his before pulling Sherlock in for a kiss. "This?" He made a motion between them with one hand. "This is something you shouldn't analyze. At least not now of all times." Then he shook his head with a smile. "Although, right now, it is a little bit of a turn on knowing that this is something I have a little more experience with." Then he ducked his head. "I will, however, grant that my knowledge in gay sex is limited to a couple of blokes I met while attending Bart's."

Sherlock glanced over and noticed that John was still aroused. "But what do I do?"

John released him and laid back in invitation. "Just touch me. I know that we don't have the supplies to do much more than using hands and mouths, but there's no wrong way to go about this for now."

Sherlock tilted his head and regarded his what? Friend? Lover? What were they now? Perhaps they qualified simply as friends with benefits.

John snorted. "I know that look, Sherlock. Stop thinking so much." He reached forward and took Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock didn't pull away, and closed his eyes as John guided his hand to touch John's body. He found he rather liked the texture of John's skin beneath his fingers. He opened his eyes and watched, in fascination as John slowly guided Sherlock's hand lower. Sherlock found his eyes drawn to a scar on John's left shoulder. He ignored what his hand was being guided to do and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the puckered pink flesh. A few inches in a certain direction, and Sherlock would never have met him. John gasped and shuddered as he tightened his hand around Sherlock's, causing Sherlock to pull back in concern. "Did I hurt you?"

John blinked at him and let out a puff of air. "Idiot. Scar tissue is sometimes very sensitive to touch whether it's for pain or pleasure." He swallowed and released Sherlock's hand. "I'm not sure where else I would be sensitive. Why don't you find out for yourself?"

Sherlock decided to do as John said and let his fingers trail over the planes of John's body. He made a mental note that the jumpers John chose to wear hid a very solid physique. John didn't have the body of a Roman statue, but it was very nice in its own way. He was lean with a moderate amount of muscles. His body hair was fair and fine so it would appear to the observer that he had none. He paused when his fingers trailing along John's ribs resulted in a gasped laugh.

John blushed a little. "Sorry. I'm a bit ticklish there. Harry always used that to her advantage when we were kids."

Sherlock replaced his fingers with his lips and was pleased that kissing the ticklish area had a very different effect. He pulled back and bit lightly on his lower lip as he tentatively circled his fingers around John's erection, which looked as if it should be causing the other man pain. He was about to start stroking John the way John had done to him when John grabbed his hand and directed Sherlock's fingers into a firmer grip.

John smiled at him. "I appreciate that you don't want to hurt me, Sherlock, but I'm not made of eggshells. You don't have to be quite THAT gentle."

Sherlock gave a tentative pull, pleased that his hand still slid along the length of John's hardened member. "You'll tell me if I start hurting you?"

John growled. "I promise. Just don't stop with one little tug."

Sherlock started a slow rhythm, like John had done. From the way John writhed, Sherlock guessed that the doctor was enjoying the sensations. Sherlock let his eyes take in every detail. From the way John was biting his lower lip to the way his abdominal muscles twitched. The reactions fascinated Sherlock and he watched as beads of perspiration started to form as John started to moan. As John started to shake, Sherlock became concerned. He almost stopped in his movements, but then remembered that John had promised to tell him if he were hurting John. That and the milky substance that was oozing from the tip of John's penis told him that whatever his friend was experiencing, it most certainly was not pain.

He watched the oozing fluid with absolute fascination. Curious, Sherlock found himself wanting to taste it. Seeing there was no time like the present, he bent and swiped his tongue across the broad head. Before Sherlock could decide whether or not he liked the flavor, John gave a sharp cry, his muscles going rigid.

Sherlock barely had the time to move out of the way as John's release abruptly seized him, sending long ribbons of white fluid in arcing streaks across his own stomach. John's fingers tightened around Sherlock's, then fell away bonelessly as he slumped against the bed, his chest heaving as he moaned Sherlock's name.

Sherlock tentatively licked his fingers and decided that he wasn't a large fan of the taste, but he would endure it if John asked it of him. He stretched out next to John and regarded him. "Good?" He was pleased when John curled up next to him and smiled.

"Good is a massive understatement, Sherlock." He rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder and chuckled. "It's funny. Just this morning, we were only friends."

Sherlock hummed. "What are we now?"

There was a moment of silence from John before he shrugged. "I guess we'll see. If you want to try something more, then I'm willing."

Sherlock looked down in surprise. "I thought you were completely heterosexual."

John let out a puff of air in what might have been a laugh. "Bi-curious, but never met anyone I was even remotely interested in before." Then he yawned. "We'll discuss this in the morning. Right now, I'm too tired to hold a rational conversation."

Sherlock grimaced. "We'll be a mess in the morning."

John shrugged against him. "That's why there are showers." Then he actually snuggled closer. "Now shut up and go to sleep."

Sherlock considered other options before he conceded that sleeping was a good idea.

* * *

Author's Notes: Thanks to Keara for writing the beginning. She doesn't quite understand how she got roped into it. My explanation was that she is awesome.


	6. Chapter 6

**Fancy That**

_A Sherlock Fic_

By: Tenshi-Chan

* * *

**Part 6**

* * *

John groaned as he woke up. He could hear the sound of water running in the bathroom. It didn't take Sherlock's deductive reasoning to figure out that the genius was taking a shower. That wasn't what had dragged him from sleep, though. It was the sharp rapping against the door. He grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around himself haphazardly before getting out of bed and opening the door.

Mycroft's assistant was standing there. What was her name again? No matter. In one hand was a pile of clothes held out for him to take. In the other was a phone that she was still texting on. "Breakfast is in ten minutes." She glanced at him and blinked, but showed no other reaction before turning back to her phone. "Maybe you should make it half an hour."

John cleared his throat. "I'd prefer it if you didn't ..." he cut himself off and shook his head. "You've already told them, haven't you?"

The woman smirked briefly. "Of course."

John sighed in resignation and took the clothes. "Great. Thanks." He sighed as he entered the room. He felt his irritation melt away as Sherlock walked out of the bathroom with one towel wrapped around his narrow waist and another draped over his shoulders. His dark hair was wet from its recent washing, and he used the towel around his shoulders to dry his hair off.

"Couldn't get the nails off, then?"

Sherlock scowled. "I should have known better than to think that Mycroft would send someone to do press-on nails. I wonder what he'll want from me to have them taken off." He examined his fingers. "Could always use a pair of tweezers to take them off. Stick the edge between my actual nail and the acrylic and peel it off."

John winced at the thought of doing that, and was grateful that all he needed was nail polish remover. Then he remembered something. "All you really need is acetone Nail polish remover." He smiled smugly. "Harry got a manicure once for a dance and one of her chums helped her remove them." He tilted his head in thought. "That might have been her first girlfriend, actually."

Sherlock threw his head back and laughed. "Of course! Thank you, John! Lord knows what tedious task Mycroft would have wanted me to do." He gave John a quick, hard kiss. "Go shower while I finish drying off, then we'll be off to breakfast. Knowing Mummy, it'll be ready in about ten minutes."

John sighed. "Well ... Mycroft's assistant said she told them it'd be half an hour."

Sherlock paused and slowly smirked. "Really? Intriguing." He fingered the blanket around John's waist. "That gives me twenty added minutes I didn't expect."

John groaned as Sherlock leaned forward and nibbled a spot on his neck that John wasn't aware was so sensitive. "Oh, dear Lord, I've unleashed a monster." He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair before offering a feeble protest. "It's not really proper to make your hosts wait for you even if the hosts are your family."

Sherlock responded by biting just a little harder before pulling back and giving John a look.

John rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Wait. Let me guess. Proper is boring."

"Good, John. You're learning." He resumed his biting kisses to John's neck. "Let's see if we can find a more stimulating way of passing the time."

* * *

It was twenty nine minutes later exactly that the two of them walked into the family dining room. John almost glared at Sherlock for the smugness that seemed to radiate from every inch of his being. John, himself, was aware of two things. The heat of his skin from his blush, and the eyes of everyone in the room resting on him. He wondered at the sight he must have made. His kiss-swollen lips throbbed faintly and he could feel a slight tenderness to his neck where he was sure Sherlock had given him a hickey. If not for the fact that John had to shower before joining everyone, they might have had time to do more.

Mycroft's tone was passive, as if Sherlock coming in with a boyfriend was an every day occurrence. "So good of you to join us." He folded the newspaper he had been glancing at for show. "We were about to start without you."

Sherlock's mother let out a soft sigh of annoyance. "No, Mycroft, we were not." She nodded to a nearby maid. "Breakfast may be served now, Elsie." She unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap. "How did you meet my son, Dr. Watson?"

John was taken aback by her slightly cool tone. "I suppose my answer depends on which son you mean." He nodded to Sherlock. "An old class mate of mine, Mike, introduced me to Sherlock when I was invalided home from Afghanistan. I met Mycroft the next night when he stalked me via vid cams and pretty much abducted me to a warehouse where he offered me money to spy on Sherlock."

Sherlock grunted next to him as the breakfast tea was being poured. "I still say you should have accepted the money so we could split it."

Mrs. Holmes chuckled, and he could see her expression turn just a fraction warmer as she regarded him. It was as if he'd gone up a notch in her estimation. She tilted her head and looked as if she were considering her words before she spoke. "Please forgive my bluntness, Dr. Watson, but what are your intentions towards my younger son?"

John blinked and her cool attitude towards him made sense. He saw Sherlock frown a little next to him, and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder to reassure him that it was all right. Then he gave the woman what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "That depends entirely upon Sherlock, Mrs. Holmes. We've been friends, flatmates, colleagues and partners. If he wants more, then I'm willing."

Mycroft looked as if he had eaten something sour, but Emily Holmes took in a deep breath and relaxed a little. "And I suppose offering you money to leave Sherlock alone would be meaningless?"

Sherlock's cup made a loud noise when he almost slammed it into the saucer. "Mummy...!"

John smirked and shook his head. "No amount of money will convince me to abandon him, although I'm sure he's curious as to the sum you would offer me."

Emily actually chuckled and added a lump of sugar to her cup before stirring it. "Of that, I have absolutely no doubt. Don't give me that look, Sherlock. I'm still your mother, and I have every right to want to be sure that the people you allow to become close to you are not out to take advantage of your station to advance themselves." She sipped at her tea and nodded to a servant who brought a covered dish. "I remember the Riff Raff that used to swan around you while you were in university. They mocked you horribly when you were out of hearing range and then doted on you when you reappeared."

Sherlock sniffed. "I am well aware of how tedious some of my classmates were, Mummy. John has had some experience with one of them."

John rolled his eyes. "Man was a bloody idiot, if you ask me. Wanted to hire you and then spent about five minutes mocking you for the very skills he wanted you to use."

Sherlock gave him a smirk. "Didn't stop you from cashing the cheque, though."

John gave Sherlock an innocent look. "I may be an idiot, but I'm not stupid."

Emily seemed shocked. "Why take the cheque at all? Surely you knew of Sherlock's connections."

John smiled at her. "Not really. Just knew he knew Mike, and that he could flirt with the girl who works in the morgue so he can abuse the dead bodies. Never really thought to ask. Didn't see it as any of my business, actually. I figured if he wanted to tell me, he would."

Mycroft was looking at him as if he were a stranger. "You mean to say that you have no idea as to how much Sherlock is worth?"

John gave Mycroft the same serene smile. "I could not care less for him whether he had 10 billion pounds in the bank or less than a penny in his shoe."

Sherlock was silent a moment. "Well ... it wouldn't do for one to be more wealthy than the royal family. So it wouldn't be 10 billion."

John glanced at him, unconcerned even if he was a bit curious.

Emily spoke up. "Sherlock is on a strict allowance for the time being. Although that may be lifted seeing as he's been doing so well."

Mycroft harrumphed as he started eating. "You couldn't allow him to spend his whole inheritance in that way, Mummy."

Sherlock was grimacing and he had stopped eating.

John smiled at him and placed a hand on his arm in reassurance. "As I said, I honestly don't really care. We're happy at Baker Street. It's in a wonderful location and Mrs. Hudson is a delightful landlady."

Mycroft made an annoyed sound. "Yes. Lovely 2-2-1-B Baker Street. Where any Tom, Dick, or Harry could piss on your door step."

Sherlock frowned. "We don't know anyone named Tom or Dick and John's sister is unlikely to relieve herself in public much less on our door step. Mrs. Hudson won't allow that sort of behaviour even if she is related to John."

John snorted and smirked a little. "I wouldn't be so sure. If she were drunk enough, she might."

Sherlock gave him a look. "I wasn't of the assumption that she was that bad."

John gave him a bland smile. "It made the New Year holidays somewhat ..." John searched for the word. "Well they were more interesting and embarrassing. I honestly couldn't get away from her fast enough. Our parents always turned a blind eye to her thinking that her drinking would just go away like so many other things."

Emily's expression was saddened. "I'm sure they were very proud of you, though. You've accomplished much."

John stirred his tea. "I think they were, though they never said." Then he shrugged. "And it's not like I don't have my own share of problems. Everyone has a vice." He put his utensils down, suddenly not very hungry. "If you will excuse me?"

Sherlock frowned in concerned puzzlement. "John?"

John paused. He gave Sherlock a shaky smile and shook his head slightly in a 'don't ask' gesture. He was relieved when the puzzlement faded away to leave only concern, and was pleasantly shocked when Sherlock took his hand and kissed his knuckles. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock smiled at him. "Go. You look tired. I'll see you back at the room."

John left quietly. Just thinking about his childhood wore him out emotionally. He was, of course, completely positive that his parents had been proud of him, but that hadn't stopped his longing to hear them actually say it.

When he got to the room, he fell flat on the bed that had been made to perfection. He must have dozed off, because he was roused by long, slender fingers stroking the fringe away from his forehead. The nails causing delightful tingles to run down his spine.

"It's not like you to talk about yourself. It makes you uncomfortable to be in the spot light." Sherlock's voice was like a soothing balm on John's nerves, and the taller man chuckled and allowed himself to fall over when John lightly tugged his hand.

John sighed when Sherlock pulled him close. "I'm sorry I walked out. It was incredibly rude of me."

Sherlock huffed. "Nonsense. Mummy understood." He was quiet a moment. "I never did much to deserve it, but Mummy always made sure I knew when she was proud of me."

John hummed slightly and gave Sherlock a small smile. "It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing can change what happened in the past. What matters is that you saw me for who I really was. You saw all the pretentiousness and cut through it without sugar-coating it like my therapist did."

Sherlock laughed. "Well Angelo did, too!"

John joined in. "Him and that damned candle!"

"The look on your face was priceless."

John snickered at the memory. "The only relief was that you didn't laugh at me."

Sherlock sighed. "Had other things on my mind." He was silent a moment. "Can we get these blasted nails off now?"

John smiled at the abrupt change of subject, relieved that it hadn't had a chance to turn into a 'what if...?' session. Then he took Sherlock's hand. "Come on. We'll go ask someone if there's any nail polish remover around." That said, he led Sherlock from the room.

* * *

To Be Continued ...

* * *

**_Author's Notes_**: I promise to make an effort to get a part of one of my fics out every week. I do have several projects in the works, but I really don't want to put too much on my plate. I took on a second job about 2 months ago, so my time is more limited than it used to be. I hope you all enjoyed this and will comment nicely. =^_^=


	7. Chapter 7

**Fancy That**

**A Sherlock Fic**

By: Tenshi-Chan

* * *

Part 7

* * *

A couple of weeks went by, and John was still trying to wrap his head around the newest aspect in the relationship he had with Sherlock. They had done a great deal of cuddling and making out, but they hadn't had a repeat of the hand jobs they'd given each other the night of the party. That wasn't upsetting to John in the least. Sherlock had stated, upon their return home, that he wanted to do some research before taking that last step. Among the research, Sherlock had purchased several books on the act of gay sexual intercourse as well as a copy of the Karma Sutra. It was that last one that made John shake his head.

He was heading for the shops when a black car pulled up next to him. He sighed when the door opened to reveal Mycroft's assistant. "I suppose I'm supposed to come with you."

She looked up and gave him a quick, tight smile. "If it isn't too much trouble."

He closed his eyes a second before getting into the car. "I'm getting kidnapped. It must be Wednesday." He smiled a little as his statement surprised a laugh out of the woman.

* * *

John took a deep breath as he looked at the warehouse before entering. He had no idea what Mycroft wanted of him, but he hoped it wouldn't take too long. He walked in and froze in shock. He nodded his head in respect to the woman sitting at a nicely set table. "Mrs. Holmes. Not who or what I was expecting."

The woman gave him a smile and motioned to a second chair. "Please have a seat. We didn't really get a chance to have a proper chat. I would have sent a formal invitation, but you kow my son."

John smiled and took a seat. "What would you like to talk about?"

Sherlock's Mother picked up a tea pot and started pouring. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Two sugars, thank you." He took his cup and stirred the dark liquid.

Mrs. Holmes sighed and spoke after a moment. "I'll admit that you gave a lovely speech a couple of weeks ago, but that was in front of an audience. I did say that people were more frank when Sherlock wasn't around. So I want you to tell me the truth. What do you really think of my son?"

John sipped at his tea and chuckled. "He can be a bit of a prat, but I've not only gotten used to it ... I've come to enjoy it." He smiled ruefully.

"I honestly don't know what to make of you, Dr. Watson. Something about you has my son's attention. I've been keeping tabs on him, and on you, through the internet." She smirked. "I don't even have to dig very far. Mycroft gave me the address to Sherlock's blog and his blog links to yours."

John shrugged. He wasn't ashamed of anything he had said on the internet. "Sherlock's read my blog. He's not that happy with it."

"Of that I have no doubt." Mrs. Holmes sighed and shook her head. "He has been doing so well since you entered his life, but I would rather see him in the gutter than have his heart broken." She motioned to a nearby servant who placed a tiny covered tray in front of John.

John looked at it and sighed before lifting the cover and glancing at the almost innocent-looking piece of paper sitting on the silver-covered tray. The cheque was made out to him in a sum that would see him well taken care of until his dying day. He picked it up and turned it over a couple of times.

"It's yours if you go back to Baker Street, pack up everything, and leave Sherlock behind."

John gave the woman a look. "I honestly don't know whether to be amused or insulted." Without taking his eyes off the woman, he deliberately tore the cheque in half. "A bit of both for the same reason, I guess." He joined the two halves and tore them again. "That you would think I would leave Sherlock for any amount of money. I told you before. I don't care about how much or how little Sherlock has." He put all four pieces together and turned them sideways before tearing them again. "He is an incredible human being who I admire and care for a great deal." He placed the eight pieces on the tray and covered it again. "I might, one day soon, go so far as to say that I love him." He gave her a tight smile. "I understand that you're worried about Sherlock, but I give you my word as a soldier, as a doctor, and as a man that I will do nothing to deliberately hurt him."

Mrs. Holmes had an unreadable expression on her face before her mouth quirked and she chuckled.

John blinked. "What's so funny?"

The woman held up a finger as she got herself under control. "Just that Mycroft owes me ten pounds. We had a little wager, and I bet him ten pounds that you wouldn't accept any sort of bribe. Mycroft does love Sherlock a great deal. He just thinks that all you have to do is wave money at people and they'll do what you want them to." She was smiling warmly at him. "I knew you were made of better stuff than that." She chuckled again and shook her head. "Although I do hope you'll satisfy my curiosity and tell me why you even bothered to look at the cheque when you had no intention of taking it."

John felt himself relaxing. It was a great relief to know that Sherlock's mother hadn't believed that he could be bought off. "Because Sherlock will ask me and then ask me why I didn't take it." He chuckled. "One thing to split the money from giving Mycroft information. It's rather difficult to split money I was given to pack up and disappear."

"Too true." Mrs. Holmes took a final sip from her cup and then smiled at John. "I do hope to see you again soon. It gives me peace of mind to see that my younger son finally has someone in his life that isn't put off by his mannerisms."

John smiled back. "Then you should really come by for a visit and meet Mrs. Hudson."

The older woman looked pleased at the idea. "I do believe I shall." She looked at her wrist and tutted. "I won't take up any more of your time." She stood up and smiled at him. "Do you know something, Dr. Watson? I believe that not only have you been good for Sherlock, but that Sherlock has also been good for you." She held out her hand for John to shake.

After giving her hand a good shake, he gently kissed her knuckles. "Sherlock has been the best thing that has ever happened to me."

* * *

John paused at the sight of a police car in front of the flat and sighed. Lestrade wanted something again, and there was going to be trouble if the DI had brought Donovan and Anderson along. He ascended the stairs and, sure enough, he could hear Anderson going on about something. He entered the flat to hear the end of Anderson's tirade.

"...you cross-dressing freak!"

Sherlock stood up and grabbed the man's shoulders. He looked very serious as he gazed deeply into Anderson's eyes. "Listen, Anderson, I know you're attracted to me, but you really must get it into your head that I'm with John now. Please understand that you have no chance with me whatsoever."

John snorted and stepped aside when the man in question stormed out of the flat to the sounds of Lestrade's chuckles and Donovan's outright laughter.

He paused in front of John and glared at him. "You're as much of a freak as he is!"

John smiled and tilted his head. "If you're an example of what it is to be normal, then I think I prefer being a freak. Please be so kind as to not slam the door on your way out. It disturbs Mrs. Hudson." He felt a thrill when he watched the man turn various colors before leaving the flat altogether. "Huh!" He turned to his flatmate. "I can see why you enjoy antagonizing him, Sherlock. It's rather fun."

Donovan shook her head and stopped laughing before turning to Sherlock. "I honestly don't know what set him off this time. Aside from our initial name-calling, you've been the perfect host." She smiled at John. "He even offered to make tea. You're a good influence on him, Dr. Watson. He keeps it up, I'll have to think of something else to call him. Damn bloody genius, is what he is. Now that he isn't acting like a complete and total prat, I can actually appreciate it."

John shrugged. "We've rubbed off on each other."

She shrugged. "Yeah, well ... I just came along to see what Anderson would say. It was quite entertaining to see him try and act all insulted when Sherlock didn't do anything to him." She saluted them. "See you gents later!"

He smiled at Lestrade as Donovan left. The DI had often come over to just socialize since the party as he and Mycroft had begun a tentative relationship. Neither man rushing things, but both open to the change since both men thought themselves completely straight. "Good evening, Lestrade! Would you do me a favor when you see Mycroft later at dinner and tell him to keep his nose out of Sherlock's affairs? Oh! And tell him he owes his mother ten pounds."

Sherlock, who was sitting on the sofa, smiled a knowing smile at John. "Bribe to leave me?"

John sank into his chair. "Yep!"

"How much? Last bloke got about 10,000 pounds." Sherlock leaned forward. "Considering your speech a few weeks ago, I would deduce it was more."

John glanced at Lestrade before getting up and leaning close so he could whisper the amount into Sherlock's ear. While there, he planted a kiss on Sherlock's cheek and got a whiff of the spicy-smelling shampoo that Sherlock used and breathed in deep before sitting down.

Sherlock let out a whistle. "Too bad you didn't take it."

John snorted. "And be brought up on charges of theft and kidnapping since I'd take you with me wherever I tried to go? No, thank you. I only looked at the cheque because I knew you would ask."

Sherlock nodded and turned his attention back to Lestrade. "Now ... you were saying?"

Lestrade was shaking his head, but there was a pleased smile on his face. "You know something, Sherlock? I think love suits you."

Sherlock tilted his head and gave Lestrade an inquisitive look. Like a child that had been told how rainbows appear.

John wondered if the taller man was aware that he had grabbed John's hand and was entwining their fingers.

Like someone coming out of a trance or deep meditation, Sherlock blinked and looked down. A small smile played on his lips and he glanced down at his fingers interlaced with John's. Then he sprang up as if boosted by a rocket. "I believe you'll find Mr. Simmons is currently staying with his mother. You can ask his wife the address. Now if you'll kindly excuse us, Lestrade?" His hand slipped from John's as he guided the DI to the door.

John smiled as he watched Sherlock and tried to imagine his life without the other man. He recalled, with a pang, when an explosion had happened just across the street. The sheer terror he had felt put the fear he had felt in afghanastan to shame.

When Sherlock returned, he was regarding John curiously. After a moment, he spoke. "How does one know when one is in love?"

John sighed. "Wiser men than myself have asked that question with no success at finding an answer. You just ... know."

Sherlock nodded. "Do you love me?"

John fought a chuckle. "Trust you to not beat about the bush." He considered everything they had been through together and smiled. He didn't even hesitate to give the answer once he had it. "Yes. Yes, I do."

The look of utter joy that filled Sherlock's face at that moment was one John would never forget, and it warmed him to know that his words, alone, had put that look there. He held his arms open and felt a warmth of homecoming when Sherlock embraced him. How could Sarah have ever compared with this? As their lips met in a kiss filled with passion, John made a mental note to thank Mike when he got the chance. He yelped in surprise when Sherlock started dragging John towards the larger of the two bedrooms. "What are you doing?"

Sherlock didn't answer until they were inside Sherlock's room where the younger man seemed slightly embarassed. "I pride myself of knowing many different things. This does not fall into my area of expertise despite the amount of research I've been putting into it." He was pacing. "Of what is required, I know at least one thing is essential." With that, he brought out a box and opened it.

John sputtered on a laugh at the sheer variety of lubrication in the box. There were various brands vith various properties and even various flavors. He picked up one of the tubes and quirked his eyebrows. "I doubt I need lubrication that enhances her pleasure."

Sherlock pulled out another box. "I wanted to be sure of what I was using. I made sure I was thorough in my testing."

John shook his head. "Do I even want to know what those tests entailed?"

"Probably not. Now ..." He pulled a smaller box out of the box he had brought out. "These are extremely durable and can hold up to one liter of fluid, but these ..." He held up another box. "These come in chocolate, cherry, banana and strawberry flavor." He motioned to the box filled with boxes of condoms. "There's also a variety that glows in the dark, but I really see no point to them."

John spluttered when he saw an aerosol can in with the various boxes. Sherlock had gone so far as to purchase the type of condom you spray on. He shook his head. "I'm not sure about the type of lubrication, but this is my preferred brand." He plucked a box of condoms out of the assortment.

Sherlock nodded and stashed the rest of the items away somewhere. "Now ... as to lubrication, I've sorted these four out as superior products. They feel pleasant and don't seperate. You would think more expensive brands would concentrate more on those aspects, rather than the way they smell. I mean ... do men honestly care that their genetalia smell of coconut?"

John chuckled and shook his head. "I personally don't. I say we try each and see which one we prefer." He decided to try alphabetically and picked up one of the tubes."

Sherlock placed the other three in the night stand drawer and stashed the lubrication box away as well. He looked to where the two boxes were stashed and chuckled. "The rubbish will be interesting if anyone decided to search it, at any rate."

John also chuckled. "Wouldn't it be a laugh if it were Anderson." The two of them snickered at the thought of his reaction before Sherlock pulled John close again and proceeded to kiss him breathless.

Those long, talented fingers started to pull John's jumper off before Sherlock spoke. "Which do you prefer? I've never been with anyone, so perhaps it would be best if you were ... top? I believe that's the term."

John nuzzled Sherlock's collarbone and started undressing him as well. "Suits me. You haven't been the only one doing his homework." He nibbled Sherlock's earlobe and licked the shell of his upper ear. "I would rather face a firing squad, or even your family's wrath, than hurt you in any way." He slid his hands under Sherlock's shirt and flitted his fingers along the smooth expanse of skin of Sherlock's chest.

"Hmmmmm." Sherlock had finished with John's shirt, and the material slid silently to the floor. "I trust you, John." He was making quick work of John's pants.

John could feel Sherlock's excitement through the fabric of his slacks, and was hardly surprised that he was equally aroused despite the conversation they had just had. He was used to Sherlock's quick and unexpected changed os subject, and knowing that the other man cared a great deal about making this as pleasurable as possible was actually a bit of a turn on.

Once they were both fianlly devoid of clothes, Sherlock suddenly seemed unsure. "Despite all the research I've done, the one thing that is still up in the air is whether or not this will hurt. I can deal with a bit of pain, but I ..."

John cut him off. "What did I say about not wanting to harm you? I've read up, too. The right amount of stimulation and stretching should reduce any pain to a mild discomfort, if that." He smiled at Sherlock encouragingly. "At any time if you want to stop, you bloody well better tell me to stop. I promise not to get angry at you." He stroked Sherlock's hip in a soothing motion. "I know you've looked into varouis positions, but I think we should do this face to face the first time."

Sherlock nodded and went to the bed. He stretched in an effort to relax and get comfortable.

John took a moment to admire Sherlock's pale skin and lithe form before joining him on the bed. The first thing he did was put the condom on himself. Once he had been tested, and if they decided to enter a comitted relationship, he might stop using them. For the moment, though, he wanted to make sure he and Sherlock practiced safe sex.

* * *

_This part has been edited for rating reasons_

* * *

When they were finished, his whole body thrummed and sparkles danced around his vision. He dredged up enough strength from somewhere and he kissed a red tooth impression.

He found himself being held securely by Sherlock. "You all right?"

Sherlock nodded and kissed John tenderly. "I never thought I'd ever say this to a single living soul, John." His expression was serious at the same time that it was tender. "I love you, and I never want you to doubt it."

John arranged them so Sherlock's head was on his shoulder. He ran lazy fingers up and down Sherlock's arm. "I love you, too." He kissed the top of Sherlock's head. He continued his soothing motions until Sherlock's breathing evened out and deepened into the steady rythm of a person sound asleep.

Had anyone told him upon his first meeting with the dark-haired consulting detective that he'd be where he was, he would have questioned that person's sanity. Now he couldn't imagine life without him. It was with a feeling of contentment that he followed Sherlock into the sweetness of post-coital slumber.

With his last conscious thought, John wondered if he could get Sherlock to wear that red corset again.

* * *

End of Fancy That

* * *

Author's Notes: Once again, I thank Keara for all her help and support.

I edited part of the fic to comply with fanfiction dot net's rating policy. I have no desire to have my fiction removed for not following the rules. I will have all of my works on my website in the near future.


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